


Over the Highways and In Between Aisles

by coffeejunkii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Airports, Clint Feels, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Protective Phil Coulson, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4406111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Phil's fault that they are stranded in an airport overnight and he will damn well make sure it's as comfortable as he can make it for Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Highways and In Between Aisles

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Rurounihime and Tesla_Maple for reading this over! <3
> 
> Title from Great Lake Swimmers' "A Bird Flew Inside the House."

Phil carefully balances a tray of two coffees and two bottles of water as he winds his way through the crowded airport terminal. He's waited forty-five minutes for those drinks, after all, and it would be a shame to drop them. It's surprising Starbucks had any caffeinated drinks left considering that the snow storm has delayed all flights, including the one that was supposed to take him and Clint home. Phil wishes that he hadn't listened to that Level 3 agent's suggestion of flying commercial and thus possibly evading the storm. Instead of evading it, they got stuck right in the middle of it.

As Phil carefully sidesteps suitcases and small children in the narrow aisles of his gate, he takes in Clint's slumped posture. Clint has drawn the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and pulled up a leg onto the seat so he can prop his chin up on his knee. Every one of Clint's actions is an attempt to make himself disappear from the crowds around him. That's exactly why Phil wanted to get him home as quickly as possible. Despite the thirty-four hours in his perch, Clint won't sleep until they're back in their own bed.

“Got you one of those drinks you like,” Phil says as he slides into the seat next to Clint. He balances the coffee tray on the arm rests between them and tucks the water between the edges of their seats. “It's a mocha caramel something.”

“Thanks,” Clint mumbles as he reaches for the drink. He lets out a pleased noise at the first sip.

Phil tries his coffee, finding it already half-cold. Ah well. He's had worse. He touches his fingers to Clint's wrist, drawing them across his skin in a brief stroke. “Any news?”

Clint shrugs. “They said they'd give us another update in ten minutes. But considering what's going on with this weather, it's pretty obvious what they'll tell us.”

Phil glances at the thick snowflakes swirling through the darkness outside. “I'm sorry.” He'd been the one to press for the commercial flight instead of waiting for the SHIELD transport.

“Not your fault.”

Phil feels differently. Clint needs rest, and Phil's decision means that he probably won't get it for another twelve hours at least. “Any luck with a hotel room?”

Clint snorts.

“Right. Stupid question.” Phil leans back in his seat and rubs a hand over his face. 

He is halfway through his coffee when a static click signals an impending announcement for their gate. “Thank you for your patience. Unfortunately, the weather conditions force us to cancel flight 451 to JFK.” A groan goes through the waiting area. “You will be automatically rebooked on the next available flight....”

Phil tunes out the rest of the announcement. A line immediately forms in front of the counter. It seems like such a futile effort since the storm won't let up for hours. Nobody is getting out of here until tomorrow morning.

“Better get comfortable,” Clint observes as he slouches down in his seat. The tension in his shoulders betrays the off-hand remark.

“Not here.” Phil stands. If they have to spend the night at the airport, he will damn well make sure it's as comfortable as he can make it for Clint.

Clint looks confused. “Unless you magically have a hotel room booked...”

“No. It won't be quite that nice, but it'll be better than this.” He tilts his head into the direction of the crowded aisles.

Clint grabs his pack and bow case. “Anything's better than this.”

They start walking toward the end of the terminal. On an earlier walk to stretch his legs Phil noticed a few unused gates at the outer edge. It might at least be less crowded there. He steers them toward the last gate on the right side and comes to a stop behind the last row of deserted seats. There is a small space there between the back of the seats and the wall, framed on one side by a floor-to-ceiling window. The fluorescent light has blown out above, making it darker here than in the rest of the terminal. It'll work.

Phil walks up to the window and drops his duffle. “Let's see if these planters can be moved.” He points to two containers containing large bamboo plants that mark the gate off from the terminal. 

Not only are the planters movable, but they have wheels. Clint helps to drag them into the narrow space between the last row of seats. With the bamboo secured in place, they've created a small sheltered area surrounded by the seats, window, and wall. It's just large enough for them to lie down.

Clint looks at Phil with a soft smile. “How'd you know this was here?”

“Kept my eye out earlier. It seemed probable that we'd need a place to sleep eventually.”

Clint steps closer and presses a kiss to Phil's lips. “Thank you.”

Phil keeps Clint from moving away with a hand on his hip. “Will you be okay here?”

Clint nods. 

“Let's get settled.”

They stow their luggage under the seats. Phil unzips the small pouch that holds the Starkbagtm. Stark is a pain in the ass, but he revolutionized SHIELD field gear single-handedly. They watch as the sleeping bag unfolds and puffs up. 

Clint toes off his boots. “Do you have a Notice-Me-Not, too?”

“You know it's not called that. But yes, I do.” Phil digs through his duffle to find the small black cylinder and sticks it into the planter, directing it toward the rest of the gate. The frequency it emits will keep anyone curious away.

Clint crawls into the sleeping bag and lies down to curl on his side. Phil watches as Clint lets out a deep breath; something eases in his own chest as well. This isn't as good as their own bed, but it's much better than a crowded gate. Phil is glad he can do at least this much for Clint.

“This sleeping bag is a fucking miracle,” Clint observes, his eyes already closed.

Phil takes off his shoes and sweater before sitting down. Miracle indeed. He can't even feel the ground. Draping his jacket over the planter with the fleece lining facing outward, Phil leans back and picks up his phone. “Go to sleep.” He rests a hand on Clint's shoulder, his back a long warm line down Phil's side.

“Need sleep, too.”

“Later. I'll look through the initial AARs first.”

Clint grumbles something unintelligible and falls silent. Phil starts reading, the rise and fall of Clint's breath a reassuring feeling under his hand.

He is on his third report when Clint asks, “D'you really hav'to work now?” Phil didn't even realize Clint was still awake. 

Before Phil can answer, Clint turns over and burrows into Phil's side. “'m cold.”

Phil puts down his phone. He doesn't quite know how to say that he was going to watch over Clint while he slept. “I wanted to make sure...” _that you feel safe_. “If I lie down, I don't think I can stay awake.” He's sleep-deprived, too, after all. Not as badly as Clint, but enough that he won't be able to keep himself from dozing off.

“'s fine.” Clint tugs at Phil's sweater. “C'mon.” He rolls back onto his side, and Phil follows, fitting himself close.

Phil likes to nuzzle into Clint's neck when they fall asleep like this, but the hood is in the way. Trying to work around it is a futile effort—no matter which way Phil turns his head, the bunched fabric covers his nose and mouth. “Think you can sleep in your T-shirt? I can't breathe like this.”

Clint grunts his assent and tugs the sweatshirt over his head. He holds on to it, pressing it to his chest. Phil got the hoodie for Clint during one of their first missions after they had to ditch most of their supplies in a compromised safe house. It's a cheaply made thing from a souvenir store, but Clint loves it.

Phil goes back to holding Clint and kisses the back of his neck, feeling a squeeze of his hand in return. It's a comforting routine. Soon the familiar warmth of Clint's body lulls Phil into sleep.

The space next to Phil is empty when he wakes. It's still dark, so he couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours. A turn of head reveals Clint sitting up, looking outside at the still-falling snow.

Phil suppresses a sigh. He hoped that Clint wouldn't dream tonight, exhaustion taking over. Phil sits up next to Clint, who doesn't acknowledge him. Phil touches his hand to the middle of Clint's back, waiting to see if he will shake it off. Sometimes Clint doesn't want to be touched after a nightmare. During those nights, he usually lets Phil sit with him, but every once in a while even that is too much and Clint moves to the living room. Phil hates the nights when they end up in separate rooms, both hurting for different reasons. Clint has managed to tell Phil a few things about why he seeks solitude in those moments, and rationally, Phil understands Clint's need to be by himself, but that doesn't make the ache in his chest any easier to bear. He knows Clint isn't pushing him away; not really, anyway. But he still wants to offer comfort, especially because there were too many times in Clint's life when there was no one to comfort him.

Tonight, Clint doesn't move when Phil settles a hand on his back. Phil is grateful for that. He runs his hand up and down, and up and down again until Clint's head finally drops forward with a small sigh. On the next upstroke, Phil stops at Clint's nape, lightly scratching into the fine hairs there. Hitched breaths turn into hums of contentment. Ever so slowly, the tension in Clint eases until he lists sideways into Phil's body. Phil gathers Clint close to his chest, folding both arms around him. He keeps his hold light, however, not wanting Clint to feel caged. 

Depending on the dream, it takes Clint a while to engage with his surroundings again. Words are always last. Sometimes they don't come at all, and Phil wonders if this is one of those nights. It means the dream was an old one that has repeated many times throughout Clint's life. Phil doesn't know what those dreams are about exactly, but he knows Clint's file and they've had a few—halting and slow—conversations about the way Clint grew up. Phil can fill in the gaps. 

Phil can feel exhaustion creeping up on him again. His back complains, too, since Clint is leaning heavily against him and they're sitting hunched over. He noses into Clint's hair, his lips brushing across Clint's temple. “Want to lie down again?”

Clint tucks his head under Phil's chin. “In a minute.”

“Alright.” 

Phil rubs a hand over Clint's arm. “Are you warm enough?” Clint's skin feels cold.

“Yeah?”

Clint's hesitancy isn't encouraging. Phil pushes the sleeping bag tighter around them, but it's too small to pull it up over Clint's shoulders. It leaves Phil frustrated and once again regretting that they're stuck in this airport. “I'm sorry.” 

“What for?”

“Getting us into this mess. Not listening to you.”

Clint straightens to look at Phil. Even in the dim light, the shadows under his eyes are pronounced. “Stop. You only decided what you thought was best. So we could get home faster.” His voice softens. “Get me home faster.”

Phil looks away. Clint's hand cups his jaw, thumb stroking over his cheek. Phil can't bring himself to say anything because he doesn't think Clint wants to hear “not fast enough” or the other self-recriminations flitting through Phil's brain. Clint kisses his other cheek, soft touches of his lips that trail down Phil's neck. Phil twists his fingers into Clint's hair and nudges his head back up so they can kiss properly. He means it only as further reassurance between them, but Clint lets out a needy noise and shuffles closer until he faces Phil. The kiss gets messier, tongues come into play, and Phil starts to get hard. He pulls away. 

Clint steals one last kiss from Phil before moving back as well. “Want you to fuck me when we get home.” 

Phil swallows. This kiss was the most intimate thing they've done in ten days, and the urgency in Clint's voice sends a shudder through him. “I can do that.” Clint squeezes his thigh hard. More sparks follow. Phil holds back a moan, but it's a near thing. Clint doesn't move his hand. His thumb digs into the inside of Phil's thigh, making his cock jump. Clint's probably completely hard as well. 

Phil looks at Clint, sees the want in his eyes. They should stop this right now. They're in public, after all. A very deserted public, granted, but there is still a chance someone could walk by, and that's not one of Phil's kinks. 

Clint's hand inches up. “Please,” he whispers. “Phil. Please.”

There's a slight shake in Clint's voice that suggests he's really turned on. Phil finds it very difficult to say no to Clint when he asks for something in such a direct way. Clint would be able to fall asleep, too, after he comes. Phil knows that from experience. And they have a change of clothes and there's a bathroom nearby...

He gives the slightest nod and Clint surges forward, kissing him again. Clint drapes his thighs over Phil's and his hands move to unzip Phil's jeans, fingers teasing over his briefs for a moment before pushing under the elastic. Phil breaks away from the kiss the moment Clint's hand closes around his cock, needing air. Clint just holds him for a moment, fingers skimming over the base, the head slipping over the callouses of Clint's palm. Phil can't stop moaning, hiding his face in the crook of Clint's neck to stifle the sound. 

Phil fumbles a hand into Clint's sweatpants, fingertips colliding with the sticky tip of Clint's cock. Clint shivers and curses. His hand starts moving along Phil with gentle strokes. Enough to make Phil even harder, but not enough to make him come. Phil loves Clint's hands. He loves what they're capable of—exerting deadly precision in the field and teasing in just the right ways when it's the two of them.

“Feel good?” Clint asks. He always asks even when Phil's body signals how much he's enjoying what Clint is doing.

“Perfect.” Phil continues to play with the head of Clint's cock, thumb swirling over it to catch the precome that pushes out of the slit. Clint's breath hitches continuously, and his hips buck when Phil presses down into the divot under the head.

Clint tightens his hand, his strokes rougher now. “Want you to go really slow tomorrow. Real slow. Lay me on the bed and open me up. As slow as you can, okay?”

Phil nods into Clint's shoulder. He pushes his hand down Clint's cock and twists. 

“Then turn me over. Push my legs open with your knees. And get in me with one stroke.”

Phil's hips snap forward into Clint's fist. “Yes. Jesus.”

Clint smiles against Phil's neck before mouthing over it. “It'll be so good. So fucking good.”

Phil can almost feel it now. The tightness of Clint's body. The play of muscles in his back as he leans over him. “Do you still want me to go slow then?”

“Hmm. Slow and deep. For as long as you can. Like this.” Clint's hand slows to a steady up and down. 

Despite the even speed, Phil can feel himself growing close. He pushes his hand farther down Clint's pants, and Clint lets his legs fall open more. His balls are drawn up tight, but Phil only brushes them to feel for the skin behind. 

“Oh shit, yes.” Clint starts to work Phil harder again. He whines when Phil's fingers press up.

Phil moves his head to kiss Clint. “Close?” He slides his other hand under the elastic, rubbing against Clint's cock. It leaves wet trails against his wrist.

Clint whines again, leaning in to slide his tongue into Phil's mouth. It's all a blur from then on, the sloppy kiss and Clint's rough strokes blending together until it all becomes too much. Phil gasps for air as he comes harder than expected. He tries to keep his hands moving on Clint, to pull him over, but everything starts to feel fuzzy around the edges.

Clint's fingers close around Phil's hand. “Here, like this.” He guides Phil up and down his cock, and Phil has just enough presence of mind to circle the pads of his fingers over that stretch of skin behind Clint's balls. Clint keeps whispering praise into Phil's neck until he falls silent mid-word. He comes in slow pulses that drip over their fingers.

They sit in silence for a few moments. Clint nudges Phil's jaw and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Phil smiles. “Not exactly a hardship.” He carefully pulls his hands out of Clint's pants.

“Yeah, but this wasn't really your thing.” Clint pets over Phil's cock before fully letting go of it. Tingles rush up Phil's spine.

“But you feel better now?” Phil isn't sure what to do with his hands, finally settling them on Clint's legs. Those sweatpants might be a lost cause anyway, and Clint doesn't protest.

“So much.” Clint looks at him with a tired but happy smile. “Wanna sleep now.”

Hearing Clint say that draws a smile from Phil as well. “Wash up first.”

They bump into each other and snicker so much on the way to the bathroom that it's a miracle they don't get caught. Phil is rather grateful for that because he doesn't want to explain a charge of public indecency in his report. But they manage to sneak there and back, change into fresh clothes and settle back down. It's three a.m. and the snow has dwindled to light flakes, which means that the airport will come to life soon enough. Phil sets his alarm for five.

As they shift around to find a comfortable position for falling asleep, Clint asks, “Can I hold you?”

“Of course.” As if Phil would say no to that. He turns onto his side and feels Clint curl around him. Phil lets Clint take his weight, sinking back into his embrace. Clint's hand comes around his side and sneaks under Phil's T-shirt. His fingers skim across Phil's chest. 

“I...” Clint begins.

“What?”

“I'm really glad that—glad that you watch out for me. Even when I'm being dumb.”

Phil hates when Clint uses that word to describe himself. “You're many things, but never that.”

Clint huffs. “Difficult, then.”

“Not tonight. Not when your dreams keep you up.” He pauses. “Now when you fail to fill in a requisition form for new arrows for the tenth time in a row, then—”

“Hey, who else aside from me needs new arrows, huh? Yeah. They should know by now.”

Phil smiles. “Maybe. Good thing I take care of those forms.”

“Always take care of me,” Clint mumbles. “'s why I love you.”

Phil's heart slams into his chest. Clint doesn't say those words very often, and Phil always cherishes them. “Love you, too.”

Clint kisses the side of his neck and settles down. Phil can still feel his lips as he drifts off.


End file.
